Holes in the Ground
by MB-The Otter
Summary: [Drabble Colection] Nor dread nor hope attend / A dying animal; / A man awaits his end / Dreading and hoping all; / Many times he died, / Many times rose again. / A great man in his pride / Confronting murderous men / Casts derision upon / Supersession of breath; / He knows death to the bone - / Man has created death.
1. Chapter 1

**HEY! I'm really happy and really nervous about this, lol. Um, this collection is mostly for practicing english, because it's not my native language and I learned it by reading tons of fanfiction (I think is hilarious) so it has flaws everywhere. So, please correct me if you see any grammar mistake. Sorry.**

 **Also, the first chapter is literal trash, probably because I wrote it while I was half-asleep. And I'm terrible with poetry, so maybe it's. Weird.**

 **Anyway, if you're still interested, let us begin:**

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 **1\. "these children singing In stone a" —e. e. cummings.**

"Are we there yet?" You ask. Little hands grasping the leather of the seat. You look so young, sitting in the back of this car. So small. Still, the sheer determination in your eyes doesn't waver. You don't trust me. I'm betting you expect everything except good things from me —how could you? Nothing good ever happens in the streets of Gotham. I can see the fear that clouds your eyes, even as you try to hide it, because I am afraid myself.

I've been here before. I will be here a few more times, I'm sure. Watching your blue-green-brown-yellow-gray eyes study the trees that frame the way. Something inside me already knows what's going to happen when you enter the manor —something nudges me to warn you and take care, and maybe let you get back to the street because living a poor life is better than selling your soul to a foreign cause— but I never was good at reading the abstract.

Dick Grayson, you said is your name.

(Or was it Jason, or Barbara, or Tim, or Damian, or Cass, or Duke, or Terry, or—?)

I already love you, son.

(I already mourn you, too.)

 **2\. "you shall above all things be glad and young." —e. e. cummings.**

Bruce doesn't want this to happen. But it's his fault, he knows. He's been asking too much, again. He's making them angry and bitter, and so much like him.

They are all his children. His little birds. Small and fragile, always so prone to fly if one presses too hard. He never wants this. They deserve all the happiness he cannot give, all the comfort this shadows and monsters, this damned cave, refuse to offer.

(Still, he thinks, as he turns and pretends he doesn't see them crumble under a burden that should be only his, sacrifices must be made.)

He wishes they would go away and never come back. Then he would have an excuse.

 **3\. "this little bride & groom are" —e. e. cummings.**

They are happy. They are truly happy. One can notice it in their grins, because they look as if containing a smile that could break their faces and tear their cheeks. It is a really big family. Even the cow seems to shine while it licks the face of the youngest. Everyone looks ready to burst in giggles. Their immortalized happiness is, probably, the envy of everyone. It is protected behind strokes of paint, saved in the soft texture of the canvas, framed by strong pieces of gold and wood.

The artist made an incredible job.

(He never really met the family.)

 **4\. "what if a much of a which of a wind" —e. e. cummings.**

Maybe —and by maybe he means definitely— he shouldn't be surprised. Things like this happen all the time, and he can only plan so much before the unexpected hits him in the face. Bruce is aware. He, still, doesn't approve of the universe's ways.

(His sondaughter is deathalive.)

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 **So, um. I write a lot of mini-mini drabbles. I had to make another collection of them in spanish because I love them but posting fics with, like, 14 words isn't going to happen.**

 **Still. Thank you so much for reading.**

(This fic is also posted on AO3)


	2. Chapter 2

Queen of peace

 **The Mad King**

It was a miracle that he made it in time to see the explosion blow off the entire building, but not enough to make it inside. The force of it shook his teeth and made his belly churn with knots of worry and the downing realization that his son —Jason, Jaybird, _Robin—_ was already death.

 **The dead son**

It was both the scariest and most peaceful moment of his —soon to end— life. That Bruce didn't appear to save him was a forgotten anger in the last few seconds he still had. Life shouldn't have slipped from him so easily —so _kindly_ , even— after long years making sure he lived on edge every damned second. If anything, the sudden halt was relieving.

 **The Queen of Peace**

He knew it wasn't his duty to stop the madness that ran through the streets of Gotham and its protector. He wasn't even _interested_ , before-

Before Jason's death.

But he also couldn't leave Bruce to his suffering, gone mad with the thrill of beating muggers up until they were only alive by sheer willpower. It wasn't healthy —not that what they did _was_ , anyway— and it needed to be stopped soon. So he packed what little he had and ran away.

Hoping to find the hero that lay in him.


End file.
